Ars Amatoria
by Tatler's Pen
Summary: AU 5: With all the stories exploring Draco's redemption through his love for Harry, it is the time to see what would happen if for once it was Harry who sacrificed everything for love. Living in a world full of prejudice is never easy. Only in the darkest hour do we realise the value and meaning of true friendships. Dark!Harry Slash HP/DM
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Everyone and welcome to my story! **

**Allow me to humbly present the story I've recently concocted. The updated should be rather frequent, since I've got the whole thing planned rather in detail. I hope you like it. Just for the record, I don't own the world of Harry Potter, though the idea for the plot is entirely my own. **

**Allow me to explain some things. This shall, eventually, be a HP/DM story, though there shall be other (mostly boy/boy) pairings on the way. It will contain slight bashing of authority figures, though nothing beside normal teenage angst. The main issues the story shall deal with are struggle for independence and self-acceptance. It shall be heavy on the importance of real friendship. That said, I intend to make it a humorous account of growing up, with sneaking out late at night, parties, first love etc. **

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1 - Wet dreams**

The playing fields of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were filled with brilliant sunlight and the gentle breeze caressed the tops of the manifold trees and bushes that dwelled on the outskirts of the expanse of emerald-green grass. All was well with the world; the end of the school year was drawing nearer and the orange beams that fell on the ground heralded the dawning day. All was calm, no sound of voice or laughter rang through the golden air.

Amidst that unnatural, idyllic peacefulness, I slowly walked down the gravel path from the main doors of the ancient castle towards the small grove by the lake, never questioning the stillness, the brightness, the warmth, and the silence. My feet moved one by one, obeying the commands of their own instinct rather than my brain since it did not seem to be functioning as it should. My awareness slipped the closer I drew to the lake.

The grove was misty. Wispy, white smudges clouded my vision. I could no longer see Hogwarts, even the surface of the water, though only five feet away from the tree under which I was sitting, leaning my back against the rough bark, seemed hidden underneath a misty cover.

Having positioned myself snuggly among the large tree roots, I sighed contentedly and produced a book from out of nowhere. It was the Potions textbook, and it immediately opened on the last lesson of the Trinity term, the one about the Cleaning Solutions, a boring double-block which was a part of a larger series of lessons on household potions. With a groan, I closed the book and tossed it away somewhere to the side. A moment later, I accidentally hit my head on the tree, startled out of my wits, as a soft chuckle erupted somewhere to my right. I heard the rustle of paper as the book was being picked up, but instead of the dread I expected, my whole body filled with inexplicable excitement.

'Anthony,' I said, my voice sounding somewhat distant to my ears, before I even saw the boy.

'Harry,' he said teasingly, plonking onto the ground beside me and placing his head on my shoulder. I felt myself grow hot and tense. My stomach made a somersault. I felt my hand, completely out of my control, entangle itself in the brown, shaggy curls of Anthony's hair. With rising dread and an odd, tickly feeling in the pit of my stomach, I observed my hand caress the other boy's scalp, running my fingers back and forth. His hair was so soft, it felt so nice. Again circumventing my volition, my head turned towards Anthony's, allowing my lips to plant a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

Feeling the heat spread all over my face, with all my willpower I wanted to force my mouth to apologise, to say I was delirious and didn't know what was happening to me.

'Anthony,' I managed a strangulated whisper, but before any more words left my mouth, he raised his head off my shoulder and looked up at me with his big, chocolate eyes. He smiled almost imperceptibly and I could feel my heart hammering in my breast. His face was hovering mere inches in front of mine. I was aware of his quickened breath on my face and when I looked down I could see his lips parting slightly as they prepared to meet mine…

BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!

I groaned, my still sleep-addled brain immediately registering my wet and sticky boxers, as my eyelids opened and fluttered incomprehensibly for a moment before I realised that the alarm clock had rung and it was time to get up and prepare breakfast before Uncle Vernon woke up to go to work. I sneaked a glance underneath the duvet and blushed. Why did everything embarrassing have to happen to me?

I used the loo, brushed my teeth and dragged myself downstairs half-asleep. My mind was still trying to come to terms with the dream I had. I felt tense and weird, and almost dropped the dozen eggs on the floor while taking them out of the fridge. I let out a relieved whistle, thanking my rigorous Seeker training for saving me a nasty punishment. Aunt Petunia would have my head on a platter if I dared to waste her precious Dudder's breakfast eggs.

Anthony's pretty face hovered in the back of my mind while I cracked the eggs onto one pan and sizzled the bacon rashers in the other. The boy's indecently good looks had often been the butt of jokes at the school, but fuck! I most certainly didn't fancy him! Bloody hell! I rubbed my lips with my free hand. There was this weird pulsating feeling in them that I couldn't get rid of ever since I woke up. I'd even chewed on them a bit, thinking it was an itch, but it didn't help much.

_I fucking kissed a boy in my dream! _

I ran my fingers through my hair, exhaling a lot of air in frustration. What the hell? Wasn't I enough of a freak of nature already? I suddenly remembered how soft Anthony's hair felt in my dream and gagged. The smell of the greasy food was making me nauseous, my thoughts were making me doubly so.

_I fucking kissed a boy in my dream! _

And, I could lie to everyone else but not to myself, I rather liked it. The mess I'd made in my boxers was more than an obvious proof of that. But… why? How? How the hell was it possible? I felt like pulling my hair out in frustration.

When the eggs and bacon were ready, I poured myself a glass of orange juice and sat at the table, deep in thoughts. The breathy noises of the toaster grated on my nerves. I felt restless. I needed to run, to do something. Anything to make me forget the bloody dream, anything to wipe out Anthony's pretty face from my thoughts.

Bottoms up, I thought, and downed the glass of juice. A moment later, I heard the Dursleys' heavy steps on the stairs. I quickly served the food and left the house through the back door with two buttered pieces of toast in hand and an apple in the pocket of my baggy trousers.

Walking down the road towards the local park, I had the opportunity to see my reflection in a couple of windows. I looked like a vagabond, but I didn't really care what the Muggles thought about me. They could all go to hell, as far as I was concerned. The presumptuous, hypocritical twats. They knew nothing about me, but it didn't prevent them from thinking the worst about me. They knew nothing about my relatives, but that didn't prevent them from thinking the best of them. Where was the logic? If I deserved their hatred for being a neglected orphan, then they deserved my contempt for being so petty and vile.

'Good morning, Mrs Phillips,' I said to an old lady who I knew lived at number seven, Privet Drive. She glared at me and didn't even have the decency to respond. To misquote Kipling, "And that's your Christian people, returning ill for good". I honestly didn't care what they thought of me. By then, I was more than used to their hateful glances and verbal abuse. They never did anything openly, but it'd always been pretty clear to me that I wasn't welcome in the neighbourhood. Never mind that though. I went to a posher school than their kiddies could ever dream of, I had more money they could possibly earn in a lifetime, and I was a fucking celebrity. I was everything they wanted to be and I hated it with a passion, so why bother with petty, little people whose only interest in life was to look good in front of their neighbours?

I sat on a swing in the park and finished the last piece of toast. The problem with the spot I had chosen was that it was a vivid reminder of the dream I'd rather forget. I was swinging among some magnolias by a large pond, watching the swans. I'd gladly feed them some crumbs but I'd eaten the bread before that thought entered my mind, so I just kept swinging, fighting a losing battle with my mind to rid myself of the image of Anthony's pretty face inches away from mine. My lips were acting weird again and I was feeling increasingly frustrated.

'Fuck it,' I snarled at some point, kicked a stone that lay in the grass into the pond, and walked back to my relatives' house. I could never say 'walked back home'. It wasn't my home. I had no home. Hogwarts, where I felt most comfortable, wasn't 'home' per se. It was my school. I could not with a clear conscience call it a home, because it wasn't one. Thus, I was homeless. I hoped that in the future I could have a real home, with a dog, a wife and a bunch of children whose annoying presence would probably make me a workaholic. But there had always been something terrifying about that image. I'd never thought of myself as a family man and now that I thought of it the idea of making babies was more repulsive to me than watching Dudley while he ate (and considering what a pig my cousin turned into at the table, that was saying something).

It wasn't as if I'd ever seen something wrong with sex itself. I might not have been very experienced at that point in my life, but how many fourteen-year-olds are? Still, I'd never shied the topic of sex while we discussed girls with the lads in the dorm at school. I dare say, I was more experienced than many of my contemporaries, as at the victory party the Gryffindors had organised to celebrate my winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament I had a chance to discuss things tongue to tongue with one of the sixth-year girls, Sadie Spencer, if I remember correctly. It wasn't anything mind-blowing, but it was nice enough. However, after last night, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. One thing I definitely couldn't understand. _Why Anthony?_

When I returned to my relatives' house, I locked myself up in my bedroom. There were three owls waiting for me, one of which I recognised as Ron's Pig. The little bugger was flying chaotically around the room, emitting odd noises that didn't sound owlish at all. It was a wonder Aunt Petunia had not heard anything and come to inspect the ruckus.

I relieved Pig of her letter and read the short note:

_Hi mate, guess what! Pack your bags! We're coming to get you tomorrow at 5pm. Hermione and Ginny send their love. Cheers!_

I smiled. Finally. I'd been at the Dursleys for almost a month by then and was dying to leave. Maybe I would find some distraction if I changed my environment. The Dursleys' place was definitely not conducive to sane thoughts.

The other owl was my Hogwarts letter. A bit early that year but it was better than receiving it a month later and having to rush through all the shopping. I set the letter aside and reached for the Daily Prophet the final owl had brought. As every day for the last month, it was filled with gossip and rubbish articles on some completely unimportant matters. No Voldemort. Good. At least he wasn't trying to establish a reign of terror like he did the last time. On the other hand, it was rather disconcerting for him to be lying low like that. I also couldn't understand why the Ministry didn't acknowledge his return. He might have been inactive but he was still at large. It was dangerous to keep the public in the dark.

Quickly and rather uninterestedly skimming the headlines, I tossed the newspaper onto the bed and went downstairs to share with Aunt Petunia the joyous news of my imminent departure. She was sure to be just as happy as I was at the prospect of my leaving Privet Drive for another year or so.

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**Love it? Hate it? I'll be happy if you share your impressions with me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Allow me to present the second chapter of the story. More action to come soon!**

**Cheers!**

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**Chapter 2 - The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix**

At four thirty, I said my goodbyes and transferred my trunk and Hedwig's cage outside to the front garden. I honestly hoped that the Weasleys would choose a different mode of transport than last year, as my relatives were definitely not going to appreciate having their drawing room destroyed one more time. They were unbearable as it was and they hardly needed to be given another thing to take out on me the next summer. But as I was sitting there, bored out of my skull with waiting and doing nothing, the familiar image of Anthony's pretty face entered my mind. I froze and frowned. I was glad the crazy dream did not turn out to be a nightly occurrence, but at the same time I was concerned for my sanity. I'd rather the ground opened and swallowed me whole than wake up in the state I did the day before while sharing a bedroom with Ron. The boy wasn't stupid. He'd immediately know what happened and I'd never hear the end of it. Would probably ask what girl I was shagging too, which would make it even more uncomfortable. No, I definitely didn't want Ron to notice anything was off. And I most certainly didn't wish him to ever find out what sort of 'off' it was.

Sighing and resting my cheek in the palm of my hand while my elbow dug rather painfully into my thigh, I tried to concentrate on the dull ache instead of on the images that had crept upon me surreptitiously and kept floating right in front of my mind's eye. Contemptuously trying to convince my very own self that I did not fancy Anthony Goldstein a single bit, I reluctantly revisited my memories of the games we played, the races we both participated in, the parties we attended, and the lessons we sat through together. And really, there was nothing special about the boy. He was just so fucking pretty! So infuriatingly, ridiculously, charmingly pretty! His soft brown locks, his chocolate-coloured eyes, and his smooth pink cheeks. His face was effeminate, much too pretty for a boy, and much too delicate.

_Ugh…_

I ran my hands through my hair. Honestly, it was getting lame. I thanked my good fortunes that just as the memory of Anthony's graceful form running across the playing fields came crushing on me, a weird, slightly old-fashioned, and unnaturally elongated black car arrived and Mr Weasley hopped out.

'Good afternoon, Harry!' he said cheerfully, looking around in wonder. 'Ah, Muggles,' he whispered in awe, bringing to mind a kid in a sweetshop.

I shook my head with an indulgent smile playing on my lips and stood up. I could never fully understand Mr Weasley's obsession with Muggles. They were the most boring, annoying, hypocritical creatures the world had ever seen. If I had any say in the matter, I'd never again set foot in a Muggle neighbourhood. I'd had enough of Muggles to last me a lifetime, and probably a couple more.

'Hello, Mr Weasley,' I said, wishing that he would stop admiring my private hellhole so we could simply get the hell out of there. 'Are we going by car?' I asked rather stupidly. Obviously we were, as he wouldn't have arrived by one otherwise.

'Yes, jump in,' he said rather distractedly. Had I had any doubt pertaining to the identity of the supposed Mr Weasley, it would have disappeared the instant I saw him around Muggles and Muggle stuff. That sort of love could not be faked, no one could be that desperate and determined. Of course, I could have been mistaken, trusting someone appearing out of nowhere in a decidedly non-standard car, but it turned out that my trust had not been ill-placed. Half an hour later, we arrived in a definitely not posh area of London. The houses there were old and had a potential to be really beautiful had someone actually taken care of them. We got out of the car, which to my shock had turned out to be driving itself, crossed an ugly, rundown park where grass grew in uneven tufts and benches that could hardly be identified as such sported marks of paint and sharp tools, and came out onto a small square, Grimmauld Place, as the rusty plaque proclaimed.

'Why are we here?' I was confused. I had thought we were going to the Burrow. Apparently not.

'Shush,' Mr Weasley silenced me. I didn't particularly appreciate being basically told to shut up, but I knew that the man didn't mean to offend me. 'Not here, Harry. Wait till we get inside.'

That said, I was given a slip of parchment and told to memorise it. Still more confused, I found out from it that the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix were housed at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Whatever it meant and what purpose it served, I had not known. However, I moment later I was left gawking open-mouthed as a house materialised out of nowhere between the numbers eleven and thirteen.

'What the…' I muttered, but didn't get to finish my rather crude sentence. Mr Weasley pushed me inside the dilapidated-looking house and locked the door behind us. There must have been something like ten different locks. It took a while…

'There's an Order meeting down in the kitchens,' Mr Weasley whispered. 'You can't attend, of course. You're not a member. Go upstairs, second floor, third door on the left. Ron and Hermione are there, waiting for you. We'll call you down for dinner when the meeting's over.'

Having yet to come out of the bizarre stupor I had found myself in after being taken to that dark and dank house without any sort of explanation, I managed to merely nod rather savagely and turn towards the stairs. I felt more than heard Mr Weasley quietly move down the corridor towards a concealed staircase that in the house's golden age used to be frequented only by servants. It was clearly not the case anymore.

Hearing the door creak and click closed, my mind finally resumed its thinking processes. Shrugging off the overwhelming feeling of unease at the unnaturally silent house, the horrid exhibition of house-elves' heads lining the wall along the stairs, and the odd, not exactly pleasant, musty smell that lingered in the air, I made my way upstairs, dragging my heavy trunk with me. It was a shame Mr Weasley didn't cast the Feather-light Charm on it, I'd really appreciate it if he did.

Sometimes I had a feeling adults didn't think as they should. Honestly, what was the point of having a wand if you didn't even use it to make your life easier? Better yet, what was the point of having a want if you couldn't use it at all? If they were so hell bent on having us not using magic over the summer, why were we allowed personal wands outside school? It would be foolproof to have us surrender our wands before the holidays and leave them at school. No one would then be tempted, as the temptation would be non-existent. But obviously, there'd always been the argument about learning responsibility, defending oneself, and such. Which wouldn't have been such a bad idea if it hadn't been such a load of crap. The fact that I got a caution for using a charm that was really used by a house-elf only proved my point; either ban it altogether, or, which was of course my preferred option, legalise it and stop making a mess.

My raging at the unfairness of life brain calmed the moment I heard familiar voices. I couldn't make out the words, they were muffled, as they came through the closed door, but I immediately knew they belonged to Ron and Hermione. I steadied my breath, quickened by all the work I put into getting my trunk to the second floor, and knocked softly on the thick, wooden door. The voices halted, I heard the padding of footsteps on the probably carpeted floor, and a moment later the door burst open, revealing the smiling face of Hermione. Her hair was as bushy as I had remembered it from before the hols and her eyes sparkled happily when she saw me, or at least that was my impression. I thought that by then I could probably read her better than anyone else. Four years of spending practically each day in each other's company did that to you - there was little in the other person's face, gesture or voice that could still surprise you.

'Harry!' Hermione squealed and embraced me in a bear hug that had soon left me gasping for breath. My eyes must have been bugging out, because Ron snorted with laughter and peeled Hermione off me.

'Thanks, mate,' I said with a somewhat embarrassed grin. I shook his hand and received a rough pat on the shoulder. All was well. All was as it should be. I was with my friends again, there were no Dursleys hovering anywhere in the vicinity, and I was soon to be treated to Mrs Weasley's renowned cooking. The mere thought reduced my mouth to nothing more than a saliva-producing, absorptive orifice. The only thing that seemed off was the house and its purpose.

'What the hell is this place?' I asked, probably sounding a tad too aggressive, as my friends' faces had immediately assured me. 'Why are we here?'

They didn't reply immediately, though their mimics grew considerably more serious. I was led to one of the beds, which apparently was to be mine for the rest of the summer (so much for privacy), and told to sit down. The act of being ordered about, even in a friendly manner, made my stomach flip with anger. I wasn't angry at anything in particular, I couldn't even vocalise my frustration as I didn't know what it stemmed from. And I was not about to tell my friends that I hated being given orders because it reminded me too much of my life at the Dursleys'. I'd always felt that admitting to what it all looked like would make me seem rather pathetic and weak. I didn't want their pity, I didn't want them knowing. But it meant coming to terms with it on my own and what would seem to them as unfounded anger and violence was not something I ought to be showing. Keep calm and carry on, as the old saw went.

'It's the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,' Ron explained after I had sat myself comfortably on the bed, leaning my back on the headboard and, despite Hermione's disapproval, resting my feet on the covers. The dirty soles left two muddy smudges on the beige of the expensive-looking patchwork. I didn't really care. 'It's a secret organisation, ran by Dumbledore, that fights You-Know-Who and his supporters. At the moment, they are mostly trying to recruit people to help with the war effort, but it's not easy. Death-Eaters have their people in high places, so we're left with nothing mostly. We don't know much,' Ron looked at me apologetically, 'we're not allowed on meetings, but we've heard things here and there. It's not really going all that well for them. And Dumbledore's being bad-mouthed in the Prophet only makes it harder.'

I nodded and closed my eyes, tilting my head comfortably against the top of the headboard. Oddly enough, I couldn't really bring myself to care all that much. I know I should have, I was the Boy-Who-Lived, the infamous legend, the celebrity. I guess I was just tired. Tired of the constant war, with the press and the public alike, tired of trying to make others include me in the things that I should be privy to by the simple fact that they almost always ended up as my cross to bear. All I ever wanted was to be a regular kid. A teenager with teenage problems, not the Chosen One with the woes of the entire world on my shoulders.

'Harry?' I opened my eyes. Hermione was looking at me expectantly, as if trying to gauge my reaction to the whole revelation.

'Yeah?' I said nonchalantly, pretending not to understand.

'Is that all you're going to say? What about V-v-voldemort?' she asked. I found it rather amusing that she would find saying the Dark Lord's name so difficult. After all, she was a Muggleborn. She had not been brought up in the fear of the wizard's name. Was she simply doing that for show? Was she trying to fit in? I smirked. Sticking out of the crowd had always been my part, obviously, and sometimes I even liked it. I liked going against the tide, just not in the matters that should not be a due of any teenage boy. Fuck, I should be worrying about being found with a bottle of cheap wine and a fag behind the greenhouses, not about whether I was going to live through the year! I'd long thought that I should make some sort of a rebellious statement, like pierce my lip or shave a side of my head, or something. Everyone would probably freak out, I'd die to see that. Would be amusing to see them worry about my hair for a change.

'Hermione, what can I say?' I asked rhetorically and continued without waiting for her response, 'They think of themselves as adults, they are fighting the war. I'll happily join in and help with ridding this bloody world of the evil, but to be perfectly honest with you, I'm fed up with this whole war that's supposedly just started but which I've been fighting my whole life. Give me a break, Hermione. If I'm going to die, I might just as well live some before.' I said it all in a bored voice, baiting her. I could just about imagine the talk about civil obligations that was sure to follow. And, what can I say, I wasn't disappointed. Hermione had lived up to her title of the Hogwarts' first Know-It-All by giving an inspirational speech about duty, responsibility and hope.

'Why are you being like that?' she said almost tearfully by the end. 'Really, Harry, the people want you to be their Chosen One. You give them hope. They believe that since you defeated him once already, you can do it again. You can't take that away from them.'

And she was, as usual, right about that. The people really thought of me as their once Saviour, but honestly, how could you expect a kid to fight for you when you were not even brave enough to fight for yourself? What could I do? Stick my wand up Voldemort's nose as I did with the troll? He had decades of experience while I was not yet fifteen, still waiting for my first stubble to come out, with an itchy wisdom tooth trying to cut through, and having wet dreams about boys to boot. Where was the logic? Shouldn't they be resting their hopes in the hands of someone more competent and leave me the hell alone? I had enough problems as it was, I had almost been killed more times than I was reasonably comfortable with, and I still needed to finish school. How could they expect someone who had trouble with the Hoovering Charm to fight someone like Voldemort who had no trouble casting deadly curses at will? It was mind-boggling.

'I'm not being like anything,' I practically snarled. I hated people's expectations. I was willing to help, really I was, I just didn't want to be bullied into it. And I could hardly accept that people expected me to do their dirty work for them. I wanted to learn to become a better wizard, help if I'm able too, but some witches and wizards had a penchant to think of me as if I were a god, almighty and indomitable. Well, I wasn't, and I wasn't going to pretend otherwise. And I most certainly wasn't going to act like a human shield against evil. I wanted to learn and have fun, and that was what I was going to do in the years to come. 'I am merely saying that my interest in anything political at the moment is purely scientific, if at all. I intend to play Quidditch this year, not soldiers.'

Hermione looked as if she were going to cry. I couldn't imagine why. I thought I sounded pretty sensible. Knowing fate, I wasn't in for a calm and pleasant year anyway, so why plan trouble ahead if it would come regardless?

The dinner was a surprisingly quiet affair, despite the twins' attempts at juggling the soup bowls filled with hot broth. I tried to hold my laughter when Mrs Weasley threatened the boys with a wooden spoon.

'It's Sirius's house, you know,' said Mr Weasley in my direction after the dinner was over. He was sitting by the hearth with a pipe between his lips, puffing small clouds of smoke. Apparently, he had found himself enchanted with the Muggle classic, The Lord of the Rings, and was trying to imitate Gandalf's smokes. I couldn't say he managed at all, but being kind I refrained from expressing my opinions aloud.

'Is it?' I said, not particularly sure why he was mentioning the fact.

'Oh yes,' he nodded eagerly. 'He lives here. Should be back soon too, tomorrow at the latest. Left with Remus to fetch young Miss Lovegood. Her father left for the Alps in search for some obscure creature that no one's ever heard about.'

I smiled. I really missed Sirius. We might not have been given the opportunity to spend a lot of time together, but he was my Godfather and my late father's best mate. I felt a certain sentiment towards him. Not love, that was too big a word. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure I knew what love really meant, having never experienced it first-hand. All I knew was that I cared about Sirius as someone more than a friend, a potential authority figure in my life. Not that I knew much about those either.

'Luna's coming here?' I asked curiously. The question was a bit pointless, as Mr Weasley had already told me that, indeed, she was coming to Grimmauld Place, but I felt the need for confirmation.

'Aye she is,' he nodded again, rocking in the chair he was sitting in. It was an old stool that was not meant to be rocked. I was wondering what would it look like if the chair were to flip and Mr Weasley to fall down flat on the floor. 'Will be staying here for the entire August. She's a good girl, maybe a bit eccentric, but still.' Mr Weasley looked at me sharply as if thinking I was going to contradict him. I wasn't. I didn't know much about Luna apart from the fact that she was Ginny's classmate, a Ravenclaw and was really weird. She always walked around with a dreamy expression on her face and talked rubbish, as Hermione would say. I didn't know if it was rubbish or not as I'd never cared enough to check the facts.

Later that evening, while I was getting ready for bed, I caught a glimpse of Ron in his Y-fronts. It wasn't a thrilling sight. He was really pale and freckled. Unlike my father, I'd never been into gingers. Still, as I took in his lanky physique, I wondered what it was that I'd found appealing in boys. I most certainly didn't fancy Ron. He was like a brother to me and it would feel too strange to try having lusty thoughts about him. But he was a boy, none the less, and I had to wonder. Lying under the covers, somewhat embarrassed of what was happening in my brain with my best mate not ten feet away, I remembered Schopenhauer's words. _Only a male intellect clouded by the sexual drive could call the stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped and short-legged sex the fair sex. _Grudgingly, I conceded. I couldn't deny that there was something infinitely more thrilling about a tall, slender, toned physique of a lanky boy than there was in a woman of any shape. Sure, girls could be pretty. Cho Chang was definitely one of the most beautiful girls I knew. But they just didn't have that something that made me tick.

'Harry?' Ron's hesitant voice brought me out of my musings. I blushed. I felt embarrassed to be thinking about such things with him in the room. It was just so private, so intimate. I didn't feel comfortable at all. I'd really rather not share the room with Ron.

'Yeah?' I prompted him to elaborate, thanking the darkness for covering up my awkwardness.

'Do you like Ginny?' he asked quietly. Something in his voice alerted me it wasn't a question of whether I _liked_ her. It was a question of whether I _fancied_ her.

'She's a good friend,' I said rather lamely. What on earth was I supposed to tell him? I most certainly didn't like her the way he had in mind. I was actually rather confused as to where that question had come form.

'You're not leading her on, are you?' he asked again, sounding a tad accusing, as if it was some sort of interrogation. I nearly choked on the air I'd been breathing.

'Why the hell would you even think that?' I replied. I wasn't thrilled about admitting it to myself, but I felt hurt by that question. I'd think that my best mate would have more trust in the kind of person I was.

'Just answer it, Harry,' Ron said tiredly. 'She's my sister, you know. I can't stand seeing her make a fool of herself all the time she's around you. It's ridiculous. She's been looking at you all the time at dinner. I know that look. Hermione's…' He broke off.

Now that certainly was interesting. Apart from the initial shock I felt upon finding out Ginny still fancied me, which infatuation I hoped she would soon get over as I did not reciprocate it in the least, I thought it was oddly perceptive of Ron to notice Hermione's interest in him.

'Hermione's what exactly?' I asked, quirking my eyebrow, which because of the darkness had obviously lost its effect. Ron was silent for a long moment. I could tell he was blushing. I smirked devilishly. It was just too funny. 'Are you hitting on our Hermione?' I teased and chuckled.

'I'm not!' Ron said immediately. I could hear him wiggle underneath the covers. It was too easy to draw his attention away from me and direct it at his own love life. 'She's nice and all, but I… well… I'm not…'

I snorted with laughter. 'Sure you're not,' I said, baiting him. Ron huffed. 'Did you kiss her? Was she good?' I asked, genuinely curious now. Ron let out a weird noise, something between a sigh and a moan. 'You did!' I nearly exclaimed cheerfully. 'What was it like?' I was completely awake. Even the late hour could not quash my now excited mind. I turned to lie on my side with my head directed at Ron. There was a broad, toothy smile on my face. In the darkness, I could make out Ron's profile. The boy was lying on his back and covering his head with his hands. 'Come on!' I said impatiently. After another moan-sigh-thing from Ron, I decided that he was probably never going to spill the beans. Just as I resumed lying on my back and staring at the ceiling, he finally spoke.

'It was brilliant,' he said quietly. He was staring ahead, not looking at me. I could guess his face was all aflame. 'Hermione's brilliant. She's gorgeous and clever. A bit of a Know-It-All, sure, but still.'

I barely withheld a snort. I didn't want to hurt Ron's feelings, even if he had never sounded so cheesy in his entire life and I wanted nothing more than to point this out. 'So, are you two, turtle doves, going out now, or what?' I asked to cover my uneasiness. It was weird to know that my two best mates were now an item. It was even more odd to think that Ron saw Hermione as something other than a sisterly figure. I couldn't possibly go out with my best mate. It would be so strange to go on a date with a person I knew practically everything about.

'I suppose…' Ron said, though he didn't sound so sure.

'Did you ask her?' I pressed. Knowing Ron, he had kissed Hermione in a dark corner of the library and then made off, terrified of what he'd done.

'Well, no, it was sort of the heat of the moment and all,' he admitted. What an oaf. It was just like I thought.

'You can't expect her to just know these things, you have to ask her,' I said, sounding terribly mature even to myself. Easy for me to say, of course. But then I wasn't the one who kissed my best mate.

'Yeah, you're probably right. I'll talk to her tomorrow.' Ron sounded rather sceptical, but determined.

'You do that.'

After that the conversation had lost its easy flow. As the lulls grew longer and we became more and more tired, I finally managed to fall asleep and sleep soundly through the night, undisturbed by any dreams.

In the morning at breakfast there was a surprise waiting for us at the kitchen table.

'Sirius!' I hugged my Godfather tightly.

Sirius looked every inch the Black he was. There was no more evidence of ever having been in Azkaban on him. He was handsome and well-dressed. In Dudley's hand-me-downs, I felt a pang of shame. I might have never cared what the Muggles thought about me, but by God I was not going to look like a stray in front of Sirius!

'Hello Harry,' he said, ruffling my hair affectionately. 'Good to see you so well. Here, meet Luna Lovegood.'

I shook hands with Luna. Her palms were cool and soft. I noticed her fingernails were painted with different-coloured, gaudy nail varnishes. We exchanged a smile.

'Hello Harry,' she said, her sharp, blue eyes drilling into mine. Luna's voice was deep, very unlike the fragile girl she was. I liked it. It was soothing, though maybe a bit supernatural.

'Hi,' I replied, my smile broadening. I could tell already that despite what was being said about Luna's sanity around the school, we were going to become great friends.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - With Luna in London

'_I'm dying,' groaned Ernie, dropping onto the hard, wooden chair at the library table, his knees spreading far apart and his bag falling with a loud thud onto the floor._

'_Why?' I asked with a snort of laughter, allowing myself to be distracted from my Transfiguration essay for a moment. _

'_My pubes are growing back,' he moaned. 'It's all so goddamn scratchy! And I've run out of the hair remover!'_

_I roared with laughter, checking myself just in time to see Madam Pince glaring unfavourably my way. I absolutely loved Ernie. He must have been one of the most explicit, sexually open people I'd ever known. There was never anything that was too obscene for Ernie to say. 'What did you shave them for anyway?' I choked out amidst the bursts of stifled hysterical laughter. _

'_Hannah likes it smooth,' he explained, sighing as if shaving for his demanding girlfriend was the height of martyrdom. 'She won't go down on me otherwise. Says she hates it when pubes get in the way. It's not worth fighting for. She's just too good, mate. Yesterday we locked ourselves in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice, she was humming the national anthem while doing it and it was amazing.'_

_My eyebrows must have hit the ceiling at the moment. Who would have thought that the prim and proper Hannah would be such a little fiend. It's always the quiet ones, or so they say…_

Luna's giggly laughter resounded in the room. We were sitting in front of the empty fireplace, telling each other stories from our school life. If I were to be perfectly honest, I thought my stories were considerably more interesting and funny, though I did enjoy Luna's tales of Ravenclaw. She had the penchant for talking about Lou quite a lot, whoever that might be. I managed to grasp from her chaotic tales that Lou was a Hufflepuff in her year, but I'd never met her. It felt rather odd not to recognise a fellow schoolmate, but Hogwarts was quite a big school, so it seemed reasonable that I should not know everyone. That way there was still someone interesting out there for me to meet.

'Well, I believe it's time to entrust ourselves to the loving arms of Morpheus,' said Luna finally, covering her mouth as she yawned. 'It's so late it's a wonder the tiddlytwinks have not yet tried to make us forget who we are.'

Having no desire to ask Luna what her imaginary creatures were, and even less so to point out to her that the name sounded suspiciously like the name of a rather engaging children's game which I knew was also played competitively at the most serious academic establishments in the land (Aunt Petunia was the Oxford University Tiddlywinks Captain in her days as an English undergraduate; she had never failed to boast her second-first in English, even though she had never made any use of it), I stretched, yawned and stood up from the sofa. I had cramps in my back. The clock over the chimneypiece told me it was three in the morning, which meant we had sat there for six hours, talking, laughing, and finding a surprising amount of comfort, understanding and enjoyment in each other's company.

'Yeeeeah,' I said, failing to stop a long yawn. 'We should be going to bed. Ron's probably already snoring. Goodnight, Luna.' I left the drawing room and walked briskly to the bedroom I shared with Ron. I quickly grabbed my pyjamas, changed and jumped into bed, too tired to even think of going to the bathroom to at least brush my teeth. I'd be up in a few hours anyway, as Mrs Weasley would not let us lazy around in bed beyond nine a.m. I didn't think they'd be hurt too much by not being brushed once. I did feel I was in need of a slash, though, but I reckoned it could wait until morning too. I was asleep before I knew it. Luna was right in at least one thing - Morpheus was a very seductive god, one we were all drawn to, and nothing could possibly keep us out of his possessive clutches.

It happened again that night. In the same grove, by the same lake, in the grounds of the same school. Anthony was there again, only this time he wasn't interested in me at all. I'd lie if I said I wasn't frustrated. He was just sitting there, reading a book, completely ignoring my presence. I wanted to call out his name, but my lips were sealed. I could not make a peep. So I simply sat there, under an oak tree, watching him read. I observed as the wind gently ruffled his hair, as the sun beams slithered along his smooth jawline, as his lanky, well-proportioned body leant against the tree trunk in this nonchalant manner that only he could pull off. There was a certain boyish grace to his whole form. I couldn't help a smile creeping up my face. But as I watched, suddenly my dream-addled brain seemed confused. Why was Anthony's hair platinum blond? Why were his innocently impish, chocolate eyes steel-grey? My heartbeat quickened. I felt a dreadful quench in the pit of my stomach. It wandered up, taking over my lungs and somehow reducing my breathing capacity. I started coughing. I tried saying something but the person that used to be Anthony kept ignoring me, as if they didn't see me. Platinum blond. Steel grey. These two colours swarmed my vision, swallowing me whole. I felt like I was falling. Slowly and softly, but falling none the less. It was dark.

I opened my eyes with a start. I almost choked on the first breath I took. For the first few moments, I was in denial. I tried to convince myself that the steel-grey eyes were not at all familiar. Then I groaned and gave up. I had a boner, I was dead-tired, and the last thing I wanted to think about at the moment was my least favourite classmate. I lay on my side with my back towards the snoring Ron, trying to mentally encourage my penis to let off. The thought of jerking off with my best friend sleeping a couple of feet away was rather disturbing, but there was little else that sounded like a good plan. I knew the boys in the dorms at school did just that, though thankfully I'd never witnessed it. But I couldn't. I needed to get to the bathroom before anyone else woke up and beat me to it.

I was glad it was still early. I certainly didn't want to be seen running with a hard-on around the house full of people I barely knew. For a moment, I wondered if any other male in the house had ever had similar problems. Not that I was going to ask, it was just a thought that crossed my mind. Was I the only one? Ron never seemed to have such troubles but then I was usually gone from the bedroom when he got out of the bed. I should probably have a lie-in the next day and see what happens.

For now, I was glad for the privacy the bathroom offered. I was able to relieve myself and take a quick, cool shower. I brushed my teeth, they were feeling sort of queer, as if they weren't exactly a part of me and were just there inside my mouth. Blaming it on the fact that I had not brushed them the previous night, I spat out the toothpaste, rinsed my mouth and left the bathroom wrapped in my fluffy, blue towel.

Breakfast was weird. Mrs Weasley kept laying into Ron for not grooming himself properly. True, he did look like he'd just rolled out of bed, he was wearing yesterday's clothes, and his fingernails were too long and not exactly clean, but it wasn't as if it was a daily thing for him, as she implied. Also, Ginny kept throwing me odd glances and small smiles. I didn't feel comfortable with them so I refused to look her way, but each time I turned away I'd hear Hermione and her giggle quietly. It was really disconcerting. I hoped they didn't think I had a crush on Ginny. That would be so embarrassing! I most certainly didn't fancy her. I felt my cheeks warm up slightly when a thought of what I actually liked crossed my mind. The phantom of steel-grey eyes floated in my consciousness. I really hoped I wasn't blushing. Everyone at the table would take it wrong.

After breakfast, there was a big surprise waiting for me, probably the biggest one of my life, apart from finding out that I was a wizard. Sirius asked me to follow him into the drawing room and shut the door to ensure some minimal degree of privacy. He motioned for me to take a seat while he proceeded to pace in front of the fireplace, holding a bunch of parchment in one hand and an elegant black quill with a silver nib in the other. Then, in few blunt words, he told me, 'Harry, Dumbledore agreed to grant me guardianship over you. Here are the papers for you that make it official. If you sign them, you will become my son in everything but blood.'

I sat there for a few moments hardly knowing what to say. Was I stunned? Happy? Relieved, in a sense? Surely, there was a degree of all those emotions in me. But my mind was just boggled. I smiled weakly, though thank God not tearfully. I was overwhelmed. I signed the papers with a quivering breath on my lips. Sirius hugged me tightly. 'I love you, Harry,' he whispered in such a way I tensed all over. 'What's wrong?' he asked, sensing my uneasiness.

'Nothing,' I muttered, embarrassed for my reaction. 'It's just… I know it's silly but… well, no one's ever really said that to me. It feels… odd, I think, to hear it.'

Sirius looked at me tenderly and with something akin to pity in his eyes. I hated people's pity. If they were honestly so concerned about my miserable upbringing, why did they leave me with the Dursleys in the first place? 'Oh, Harry…' he said softly, hugging me even closer, if that was humanly possible. 'Remember, your parents loved you dearly. Your mum even kissed your just cleaned bum after you've shitted yourself all over more times than I care to count. If that's not love, I don't know what is!'

I snorted with laughter, though it did sound alien to my ears. 'Thanks, Sirius,' I said, finally returning the hug.

'Well, I can't offer you much,' he began, looking rather sheepish, 'I'm still a wanted fugitive, but you'll always have a place to call home as long as I'm alive. And remember, whatever happens, I am your godfather. You may always come to me if you have any troubles.'

After that we talked for a bit longer and parted our ways. Sirius went back to the kitchen and I went to find Luna with whom I'd concocted a plot to leave the house for a couple of hours and go shopping in the Muggle London. I couldn't go to Diagon Alley as it would attract too much attention but I was in a desperate need of shedding the rags my relatives had me wear. I felt rather bad about it. I'd come up with the idea the day before, when I was an orphan with no parental figure to speak of. Now, however, I had a new guardian who I knew would be beside himself with worry when he noticed me gone. Following a sudden stroke of genius, I wrote a short note to Sirius and left it on my pillow. They were sure to find it while searching the house for me.

The walk to the shopping centre was glorious. It was sunny and warm outside, and the hustle and bustle of the city was a far cry from the tiny, provincial Little Whinging. Luna was quiet most of the way, only commenting on Muggles and Muggle contraptions from time to time. I didn't feel much like talking either. I was lost deep in thoughts, mostly ranging from my brain guilt-tripping me about sneaking out of Grimmauld Place, to Anthony and his metamorphosis in my last dream.

On the other hand, showing Sirius that I was not some lost, gullible lamb, meek and weak, couldn't be a bad thing. I hated people's pity. I hated it when they had this look in their eyes as if I were a lost puppy, dirty and hungry, whom they wanted nothing more than to feed and cuddle. I suddenly felt like my escapade had a higher purpose than merely buying clothes. I was making a statement that Harry Potter was strong-minded and obstinate, and that he would not be cowed.

'You shouldn't take these trousers, Harry,' said Luna, seeing me in a pair of burgundy jeans. 'They're much too tight. Bugmist from the cloth could infect the hair follicles on your legs. Most awful rash, I'm telling you.'

Smiling at Luna's words but not really taking them to heart, I looked at myself critically in the fitting room's mirror. I actually quite liked what I saw, but also knew that by wizarding standards the trousers were indecently tight. Luna was right, I probably shouldn't buy them. If Snape or McGonagall caught me wearing them at Hogwarts, I'd be surely looking at having multiple detentions for 'indecent exposure'. But that didn't change the fact that I really liked them and there was still more than a month left before I had to return to school.

'I want them too,' I said, taking them off and adding them to the ever-growing pile of clothes to buy. Luna only smiled dreamily and nodded with indulgence, but something told me that she was not expecting me to do any different.

'Just don't say I didn't warn you when you'll be walking around scratching your balls,' she said with a mock-serious expression.

I snorted and jokily promised not to hold her responsible for any possible dermatological problems she was so sure I would experience. Luna smiled again and continued watching as I changed into more and more bizarre sets of clothes. I paired up the burgundy jeans with a lime-green t-shirt and a navy-blue hoodie. The shop assistant who was attending to us, a cute girl in her early twenties who had the sides of her head shaved, hair dyed blue, and multiple piercings, said that, if she wasn't sure that I'd rather go out with her male colleague and if she didn't have a girlfriend, she'd happily hook up with me for the night. I turned beet-red, for the first time in my life hearing someone proclaiming so casually that I liked boys. Hell, I had still not fully admitted it to myself yet! I honestly thought girls beautiful. Cho Chang was gorgeous and I'd certainly date her. On the other hand, I wasn't so sure of the validity of such claims anymore… Still, I'd never thought I looked or acted the part. How could she see? My voice was breaking as it should, I wasn't effeminate, and I didn't have the wrist problem so many gay celebrities seemed to regard as their symbol alongside the rainbow flag. I was sporty and not much into fashion, though I did enjoy my shopping trip with Luna probably slightly more than a regular bloke would.

I added a couple more tad gaudy t-shirts to my pile, chose some nice, long-sleeved shirts to tone down my new wardrobe, loaded everything into the laundry trolley of the kind they had in hotels that had been provided by the blue-haired assistant and went to the check-out.

'Two thousand three hundred twenty-two pounds and thirty four pence, please,' said the cashier. My eyes almost bugged out at the numbers; I'd never spent so much on anything in my life before. The shop assistant seemed rather surprised too. Despite it being an up-market shop, it probably wasn't often that not yet fifteen-year-old boys spent so much money in one shop alone. Only Luna, as she was wont, seemed completely unperturbed.

I paid with a credit card and we left the shop. I received the card from Gringott's at the beginning of July as a response to my inquiry about the methods of payment in the Muggle world. Apparently, it was directly connected to my vault so that the desired amount of money was transferred to the Muggle service provider.

'Let's look at the shoes,' I said, having caught the shopping bug. I was buckling under the weight of the bags filled with clothes and accessories, but it was just too much fun to stop now. Having never had the opportunity to shop for myself before, I had no idea how much pleasure one can derive from a shopping trip. It was exhausting too, but I loved it.

We bought shoes for every occasion, packed them among the clothes, and left the cardboard boxes behind. We'd have no chance of dragging them back to Grimmauld Place if we tried taking the packaging too. Luna immediately had me put on a pair of beige Converses which coupled with my new burgundy jeans, lime-green t-shirt and the unzipped navy-blue hoodie looked quite peculiar and so completely different to the vagabond gear I was wearing earlier that it instantly became my favourite set of clothes. We concluded our trip by buying a pair of rectangular glasses in simple, thick, black frames and a stash of contact lenses. I liked the idea of myself without glasses, but I reckoned it wouldn't be good to completely change my image. After all, the specs and the world-famous scar were iconic. One couldn't simply get rid of even one of them without repercussions.

It was almost five in the afternoon when Luna and I decided it was the time to go home. We were both struggling under the weight of my new wardrobe, we were hungry despite having had a lovely lunch at one o'clock in one of the cosy cafés, and my mind was again guilt-tripping me about leaving Sirius and my friends to worry about my safety while I was having fun. We were about to leave the shopping centre when I saw something that made me freeze.

'Striped socks!' I exclaimed happily and rushed inside to choose as many pairs as would strike my fancy. Having only ever worn the ugly old socks Uncle Vernon gave me, I felt myself going wide-eyed seeing so much of fantastic, colourful, striped merchandise. In all, I must have bought half the rack. I must have been behaving like a starved prisoner eating all the food in sight upon their release. When my enthusiasm cooled down a bit, I also bought far more pairs of funky boxers than I needed.

My favourite pair of socks, which I immediately put on, was in lime-green and canary-yellow stripes. Luna looked up at me with an indulgent smile when I walked out of the shop showing off my ankles. She pointed questioningly towards the exit. I nodded, gave her a friendly, one-arm hug as a thank-you for bearing with me for so long, and wondered with amazement how easy it was to be silent with Luna. She didn't demand that I speak and I was happy to let her be quiet. It felt comfortable. Obviously, I very often was a chatterbox, but I also liked silence. With Luna, the latter felt more natural. Anyway, we seemed to understand each other without the need for words.

The feeling of dread for the impending reception at Grimmauld Place returned tenfold and wouldn't let me relax the whole time we walked down the sunlit road towards the house. Luna was so calm and peaceful. I envied her that state of mind, especially while we waited on the stoop after knocking on the door. I just knew it wasn't going to end well.

Sirius opened the door. I had never seen that kind of mixture of anger and relief on someone's face. I suddenly felt so bad about sneaking out that I couldn't look my godfather in the eye.

'How kind of you,' he said through gritted teeth, looking at me with a murderous expression. 'Before supper too, I'm impressed.' His voice didn't leave a doubt that he was actually anything but.

I hung my head low, wishing the ground would just swallow me whole. I no more regarded my trip as a way of proving myself, though obviously I was determined to prove to Sirius that it was nothing and that he shouldn't make a mountain out of a molehill. However, I was never given the chance to explain myself. In spite of my protests, Sirius harshly ordered me to go to my room and remain there until he said otherwise. Luna was not to be with me and I was to sort out my bags.

I sighed and went upstairs. It was worse than I had anticipated, though clearly not as bad as it would have been with Uncle Vernon. Sirius probably needed time to let off steam before he came up to talk to me. I wondered what my punishment would be.


End file.
